


All My Agony Fades Away (When You Hold Me In Your Embrace)

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: Fifteen Days of Valentine [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fifteen Days of Valentine, Fluffy Ending, Masturbation, Past Abuse, Sharing a Bed, Takes place right after 6x10, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9539342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Seeing Jon again had been a flicker of light in the ocean of darkness her life had become. In his arms she'd felt warm and safe and whole again, if only for a couple of moments, but he hadn't held her like that since that first day at Castle Black. Sansa wasn't even sure it would feel the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for day 2 (Bed sharing/cuddling) of Fifteen Days of Valentine.
> 
> This has probably been done before, but I based it off one of the first things I ever wrote for Sansa and Jon, right after the season 6 finale, but never published.
> 
> The title is from the song All I Need by Within Temptation. Below is a link to a lyric video, because this song gives me so many Jonsa feels!

Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine despite the roaring fire and the layers of furs on her bed. It would never be truly cold in here, in the Lady's chambers. It was why Jon had insisted she take them instead of her own old rooms when she'd finally convinced him to take the Lord's chambers. 

Her discomfort had little to do with the temperature. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.  _Winterfell is our home. We have to fight for it._ It didn't feel like home anymore though. She'd hoped to feel safe again inside these walls. She'd expected her broken pieces to start healing again once they'd taken their home back.

She wondered how long it had been since she'd had a full night's sleep, trying to remember when she'd felt safe for the last time. Perhaps when she'd been in the Eyrie, before Aunt Lysa had seen Petyr kissing her, though uncertainty and painful memories had haunted her dreams even then.

Even in her most desperate moments, she'd found comfort once in a while: Tyrion's kindness; talking to Margaery; building Winterfell out of snow; having Theon with her when they'd escaped. But after Ramsay, a coldness had settled in her bones that she feared she'd never be able to chase away.

Seeing Jon again had been a flicker of light in the ocean of darkness her life had become. In his arms she'd felt warm and safe and whole again, if only for a couple of moments, but he hadn't held her like that since that first day at Castle Black. Sansa wasn't even sure it would feel the same.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day they'd talked up on the battlements. She remembered the way he'd touched her hair and kissed her forehead so gently. Part of her had wanted to throw herself into his arms again, but she'd been afraid to startle him. More importantly she couldn't allow herself to feel so deeply. When she thought of losing herself like that, it felt as if an iron hand was squeezing her throat shut.

It was too close to dawn when she finally fell asleep. She woke from restless dreams only a few hours later. She was used to the nightmares by now. They didn't overwhelm her the way they had in the beginning, but they still wore her out. Tonight there had been something new though. She tried to force the images out of her head.  _No,_ she told herself,  _he would never do that._ Jon wouldn't hurt her.  _He's my brother._

 _Your half-brother,_ Littlefinger's voice warned her. She shook her head. It didn't even matter whether Jon loved her. Father had loved her, but he'd died. So had Mother and Robb, but it hadn't been enough to save her. Again and again, Sansa had put her trust in the wrong people and she'd promised herself never to make that mistake again. Still, if she couldn't even trust Jon, did that mean she would never be able to trust anyone again?

Despite his betrayal, Littlefinger had been valuable to her, teaching her the most important lesson. If you know what people want, you can always use it to your own advantage. She had figured that what Jon wanted more than anything was to be a Stark. So she did her best to make him feel like he was. At least, that's what she tried to tell herself.

She couldn't deny how warm and light she'd felt seeing that smile on his face after she'd presented him that direwolf cloak. And she had actually meant it when she'd told him he was a Stark. Now that the Lords had given him that same acknowledgement, she was at a loss though. It annoyed her immensely that she couldn't figure out what Jon wanted.

 _"I'm sorry, Sansa,"_ he had told her later that same night,  _"I know you're angry with me, but I didn't ask for this."_

She'd tried to tell him she wasn't angry, but he'd seen right through her. Of course she felt some resentment. It had been as if the lords had not even seen her there. They must believe her unfit to rule. They didn't trust her because of what their mutual enemies had done to her. _What's done is done._  It wasn't as if Jon could have refused the crown.

And she was happy for him, she truly was, but power would have meant safety for her. Once again that power had been taken from her. Once again she was at the mercy of another man. She wanted to believe that Jon was different, that she could trust him and that he truly cared about her. But even if all of that was true, he wouldn't be able to protect her forever. Sansa knew how the world worked. At one point he'd have to marry her off and she'd have to leave Winterfell again.

She sighed. She could stay here in bed all day fretting over things she was unable to change, but that wasn't going to help anyone. She slid from the bed, pulled on a robe and called her maid to draw her a bath. 

***

Sansa spent most of her day dealing with the household staff. Some had arrived here with the visiting Northern Lords, but most of them had suffered through the Bolton regime. Some of them had tried to help her or had at least sought to comfort her. The majority of them had been too afraid of Ramsay to attempt any such thing.

Sansa wanted to hate them, but she understood too well what it was like to live in constant fear. She listened to their stories, comforted them and accepted their expressions of support and loyalty. She had inspected the keeps and other buildings with Jon a couple of days ago to establish priorities in the process of restoring Winterfell to its former glory.

Based on this inspection, she'd listed tasks that needed to be performed immediately. She entrusted these lists to the head staff, setting everyone to work.

***

By the time she had finished dealing with them, she felt exhausted and ready for another bath. It was silly and decadent, but she deciced she deserved a little indulgence after all those months of sleeping in a tent. When the bathtub was filled, she sent the servant girls from her rooms, undressed and sank down into the hot water.

Sansa picked up a sponge and furiously started rubbing her skin. After a couple of minutes, she forced herself to stop.  _No, no, no, you're supposed to be enjoying this!_ For months she had been so focused on taking back Winterfell that she had hardly lived consciously, practically unaware of her body.

She tried to relax. It still hurt, though even the ugliest wounds had healed by now. The scars would probably never fade completely. Winterfell would be repaired, but could she? She started stroking her arms and legs, moving on to her belly and her breasts. The touch of her fingers felt lovely.

She let one hand slip between her legs, tracing her lower lips with one finger, finding that sweet spot she'd discovered ages ago when she was still a prisoner in the Red Keep. She remembered lying in her bed at night, circling her nub until she found release. Back then she'd hardly realized what she was doing, only intent on losing herself for a couple of moments, freed from all of her worries and fears.

But she had known well enough it was something utterly wicked. She worked her clit until the pressure snapped and she felt a wave of pleasure tremble through her body, a soft moan escaping from her lips. When she was coming down, a couple of tears spilled from her eyes. Would she ever be able to let a man touch her?  _Jon touches you,_ a small voice in the back of her head reminded her.

 _Seven Hells, what is wrong with me?_ It must be true, she couldn't kill him, she was damaged beyond repair. What kind of woman would think of her brother with her hand still between her thighs?

***

Jon found her standing in front of one of the doors in the family quarters. "Sansa."

"Jon."

He hesitated for a moment. She glanced up at him. "Will you be joining us for supper?"

She sighed. "No, I'd like to eat alone tonight."

A slight frown appeared on his face. "Of course."

When he turned to leave, she called him back. "Jon."

He stopped to look at her and she met his eyes. "I want you to take everything inside this room and burn it."

His mouth fell open. "This is Robb's room."

 _I know, Jon, I know._ "It was Ramsay's room," she answered. He didn't avert his eyes. To her relief there was no pity in them. She wouldn't have been able to stand seeing that he felt sorry for her. Instead she thought she saw pain and anger. She left without waiting for an answer.

She had her supper brought to her mother's solar, but ate little. After that she retreated to her room to sit by the fire and embroider another direwolf on a new dress. She worked until her eyes grew tired from the poor lighting. She put the dress away into a small chest and sat back down in her chair.

Sansa wished there was some other useful task she could set her mind to, but it was too late and too dark for that. She walked into her dressing room to unlace her gown and put on a warm nightrail. She peeled back the covers on her bed and nestled herself under them, waiting for sleep to take her, knowing it wouldn't.

And if it did, it would only be worse, for with it came the nightmares. She tried to push the thoughts out of her head, but it was too late. Her mouth went dry and her heart started beating frantically.  _Gods, what do I have to do to be able to sleep?_

A memory came to her then, of another night when she'd been terrified, years and years ago. She'd tiptoed across the hallway, sneaking through a door and into another bed, whispering that there was a monster under her bed. A skinny arm had wrapped itself around her shoulders and a sleepy voice had answered. "Don't worry. I'll protect you, I promise."

He had repeated those words the night before the battle, when she'd told him she wouldn't go back to Ramsay alive.  _I won't ever let him touch you again._ For a moment she'd been reminded how safe she'd felt as a little girl and something inside her had started to thaw. She'd believed every single word of his promise, but she couldn't allow herself to hope, so she'd retorted bitterly that no one could protect her.

She wished she could still hide from her monsters in Jon's bed right now.  _And why shouldn't I?_ She was not a little girl anymore though. Jon might be her brother, but it wouldn't be proper for her to sleep in his bed. But why should she still care whether something was proper? Septa Mordane and her Lady Mother weren't around to stop her anymore, so she rose, wrapped her robe around her body and padded out of her room and across the hallway to the Lord's chambers.

She knocked on the door. It took a couple of minutes before it opened, during which she considered turning back and abandoning this ridiculous idea. Then Jon was standing in the doorway, wearing only his tunic and breeches, his curls hanging loose around his face, illuminated by the light that spilled from his room. Sansa met his confused eyes. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside to let her in, closing the door behind her. She turned back to him. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, you didn't," he said slowly, frowning again. "What's wrong?"

She wrung her hands as she stared at her feet. _There's a monster in my bed._  "I - I can't sleep. Can I stay here tonight?"

Jon didn't answer. She looked up, opening her mouth to take her words back, but he cut her off. "Of course. I - I understand."

He licked his lips, his eyes wandering around the room before he met her gaze again: "I have nightmares too."

Sansa gaped at him. _How could he know?_ He cleared his throat, swinging his arm. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep in a chair."

"No!"

He jerked his chin up as his eyes widened in surprise. "I mean - I don't want you to be uncomfortable. The bed is large enough for the both of us."

He stared at her for a moment, his face blank. Finally he nodded. Feeling a blush creeping up her face, she turned her back to him, taking off her robe and climbing into the bed. She waited until she felt the mattress dip under his weight, turning around to face him. He was lying at the edge of the bed, as far away from her as possible. "Please, come closer?"

He rolled onto his side to look at her. "I promise there are no grumkins under the bed."

She blinked. "You remember that?"

He offered her a quick smile. He seemed lost in thought for a couple of minutes. "You always came to me when you were afraid of monsters under your bed. Why?"

She propped herself up on her elbow. "I couldn't go to Mother and Father. I wanted to be a good girl, not a scared little baby. And Robb snored!"

They both chuckled. "And most of the time he'd just grunt and turn his back to me. I tried Theon once, but he laughed at me."

Jon's upper lip twitched when she mentioned that name. Sansa shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't do that. And you never refused me."

He searched her eyes for a moment. "Sansa, can I ask you a question?"

She nodded. "What do you want?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Now that we're back home, what do you want to do?"

Why was he asking her that? "I don't know. I just want to stay here."

Sadness filled his eyes. "That's it? The Sansa I used to know had so many dreams..."

She offered him a rueful smile. "That's true..."

 _But life is not a song, Jon._ "I know I can't stay here forever."

"Why not?"

"Because..."

He shook his head. "No, it's settled. You're staying here with me, forever."

She blinked at him. He rolled onto his back, turning his face away from her, and muttered: "Try to get some sleep now, Sansa."

She shuffled closer, putting her head in the crook of his shoulder and placing one hand on his chest. "Could you - hold me?"

"If you want me to?"

He wrapped his arm around her, hesitantly curling his warm hand around her upper arm. She took a deep breath, letting it out again in a sigh. "You smell like home."

She only realized she'd said that out loud when Jon made a vague noise in the back of his throat. Heat flushed her cheeks again, but for the first time in months, perhaps even years, she felt safe and comfortable.

"Thank you," she murmured, closing her eyes and drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKJkgawDfEk
> 
> If you want to read about Sansa hiding from the grumkins in Jon's bed when they were children, check out my fic Nipped in the Bud.


End file.
